Oh, No, Not Again!

Over the Easter weekend, the Campbells visited their Italian families, to savour a variety of pasta dishes.

Pasta with seafood, pasta with chicken, pasta with vegetables, pasta with salads; actually, any pasta you please.

The last port of call, was Nonna, who deposited a huge bowl of pasta, on the table.

Blake, throwing up his arms in despair, and covering his eyes, with his hands, said:

"Oh, no, Nonna, not pasta again!"

Nonna and Guppy were sitting side-by-side, when Blake threw his arms around us saying, very solemnly:

"I love you both two times."

Every pre-school morning there is a chorus of: "Bye-bye sweetheart." "I'll see you later." "Love you lots", and the little uns hug and kiss their parents, before hopping and skipping, to their classrooms.

Blake: "Bye, bye, Mommy, see you later..."

Misty: "I want to walk, with you, to your classroom."

Blake: "Oh, No, Mommy! Not Again!!"

That same afternoon, Misty arrived, and the new teacher, wearily, exclaimed:

"Thank goodness! Saved by the bell!!"

There stood Blake with his buddy in the corner, pointing at each other, and rubbing their bottoms.

Misty: "What happened, Blake?"

Blake: "I won't talk about it."

At home, Blake: "Mommy, if I am naughty, you must smack me on my bottom, OK."

Misty: "No, I won't smack you. You must smack your own bottom."

Blake, ponders this, bends over, lifts his arm, and....

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Blake: "Oh, No, Not Again..."

Are You Obsessed?

Have you ever cornered someone and rambled on about the topic of your obsession?

Are you unaware that their eyes are glazing over while staring into the distance.

If (s)he manage to make a getaway, do you follow them or then target the next unsuspecting individual?

My guests exhausted after an 18 hour flight and studying the pizza menu were subjected to Ralf as soon as he made his entrance.

His passion was Saving the Rhino.

While some people couldn't care less, most of us are sickened by the torture ignorant and greedy savages inflict on the rhinos which are being hunted to extinction.

While we admire the dedication and determination to stop this barbarism, Ralf's obsession drove my hapless guests batty.

As they were from Asia and had difficulty communicating in English, Ralf's questions and comments left them bored and bewildered.

"Do you know that Mozambican poachers have killed the last remaining rhino in the entire country?"

"According to eastern medicine their horns are believed to be a cure for cancer. Can you believe that? Also, as a hangover cure and an aphrodisiac in Asia. People are so stupid over there.

"Their horns are made of keratin, the same material as human hair and finger nails. So why slaughter them?"

"The rhino horn is more expensive than cocaine, gold and platinum at over R600 000 per kilogram."

"Would you be willing to give a donation to save these magnificent creatures?"

As the guests left the room Ralf followed them and continued with a theatrical rendering of the sound of adult rhinos and then those of their babies, as he explained each in turn.

Ralf then went off the topic but subjected the Asians to an African general knowledge quiz: "Are there tigers in Africa?" and "Do you know what a warthog is?"

"Some people are so thick," Ralf told me later.

I then told him that I needed to sleep as the guests were leaving at 4am for a flight to Cape Town.

"Why?" he asked. "I am far from finished. We can continue the conversation tomorrow. I only have a flight at midnight."

When Ralf heard the guests leaving, he jumped out of bed nearly knocking them over, to hand out magazines entitled: The Plight of the Rhino.

I had to strictly enforce the 10h00 check-out time to save my sanity. As Ralf was walking away the rhino sounds reached fever pitch.

My gardener asked me 'if that man was mad?'

Later that evening another group decided to braai in the backyard.

Aaron ran out of his room as though it was on fire: "Terry, Terry, I smell smoke. Is there a bush fire nearby? I wanted to speak to you anyway. I heard that they kill rhinos at your Kruger Park. Is this open to the public?"

"No," I replied.

"Well, that's a pity," said Aaron, "now I have come here all for nothing."

The Clown Council

Some time ago, I received the Council's monthly newsletter, confirming that they supply clean and safe tap water.

One less question to answer, I assumed, from the guests: "Is your water safe to drink?" so I made copies, and prestiked them above the taps.

From a local: "I have never seen notices like this. Are you sure, sure, the water is safe to drink? Find this hard to believe."

From an American: "I was told that African's put stuff in the water to make us foreigners ill. So, I'll just drink tea and coffee."

In February, we also receive the annual refuse removal calendar. All the areas are colour coded, apparently, for our benefit. In April, we receive another one, confirming that the previous calendar was a misprint.

As we are all aware, if a public holiday, and there are many of them, falls on a Sunday, the following Monday is also a day off.

During April and May, many of the householders do not know their arses from their elbows, especially if their calendars have been mangled in the spin cycle.

Others, are vigilant and confirm the removal days on the website, and place their refuse on the pavement the night before.

Sadly, the council workers are also confused with this turn of events, and do not arrive at all, or over the weekends.

Early, one Sunday morning, amid much hooting and hollering, the driver whistles to confirm he is on his way.

"Wait, wait, stop, stop," I bellow, flinging bags onto the pavement. "What is today? Wednesday or Thursday?"

"After numerous complaints, marram, we are now back on track. Do you have a 2litre coke for us?"

On the previous nights, the cats and dogs have had bun fights, ripping refuse, all asunder, which the frustrated residents or gardeners have to clean up, while others don't bother.

If we present a certified, signed affidavit to the Council stating that we had disposed of our own refuse at the tip and request a refund, we would be told, with rolling eyeballs, that 'things happen beyond our control.'

And, that's not all. For four months Ekurhuleni ratepayers have now been additionally debited with - Refuse: Area Cleansing Levy. R5 plus VAT of 70 cents.

DA Finance Councillor, Eddie Taylor, bless him, has tried in vain to have this reversed,
and the MMC Moses Makwakwa, indicated that this 'item had been gazetted in error,' the charges would be removed and our accounts credited, in September. Yay. But, we are now approaching December.

And, the innocent Ekurhuleni ratepayers are also liable for Robert McBride's R7 million legal fees.

We assume the Cleansing Levy will be refunded just before the next Municipal Elections.

A week before the previous elections, I noticed eight workers, in the street where I live, one filling a pothole, while the others leant on their spades and supervised.

"What's happening here?" I asked.

"We're filling the holes."

"Why?"

"Haven't you heard, Marram, there's a Council election next week?"

I am a Tourist (3)

I step into the shower, turn on the taps and begin lathering my hair.

"Joy, Joy, I need to leave now!"

"Please could you wait ten minutes?"

"No, I need to leave now!!" And, what time is my doctor's appointment? Your shampoo smells nice. Is it the herbal, that I ordered?"

I give Maya directions to the hospital. You can see this from Terrylin. Walk to the corner, down the road, and turn right.

Arms flapping. "Your right or my right?"

"Maya," I ask: "Would you like me to clean your room, and wash the towels?"

"No. I have many items of value in there."

Later that afternoon. "I had to wait for the doctor to see me. Then, I got lost. I am a tourist and I am ill. I also bought some food. If I leave it in the fridge, will anyone else eat it?"

"I have decided to stay another night. Is there discount?"

Jim and Jenni arrive that afternoon.

"Where are all the towels? On your website, it says, that you supply towels."

Maya: "I have them. Joy, you didn't tell me that you were expecting other guests."

The landline rings. Call for Maya. Chat. Chat. Chat.

"Please would you ask your friends to 'phone you on the call box?" I ask, "I need the landline for business."

"I am a tourist. I am ill. My friends need to know how I am. And, your call box is out of order."

After breakfast, Jim and Jenni, decide to catch the Gautrain to Sandton.

"I'm coming with," shouts Maya. Please wait for me."

But, you can't see Jim and Jenni for dust.

Maya: "Where are they? What happened to them? Some people are so selfish...."

I am a Tourist (2)

Around midnight all is peaceful. Then, a loud rapping on my bedroom door.

"Wake up, it's me, Maya. I am hungry. I haven't eaten all day. I have been ill. Do you have something for me to cook? Where are your pots and pans?"

"Maya! We are all trying to sleep," I say. "Please have some consideration."

"But, I am hungry! I am a tourist. I am ill."

The following morning, Graham: "Who was the prat banging pots and pans about in the kitchen, late last night? And, what happened to the soup and noodles, I left in the fridge?"

Maya: "I know. I know. It often happens to me." I have to make a lot of 'phone calls. Do you have coins for me?"

I show Maya, three times how to use the call box. The Masters University Student, then begins.

"I am a tourist. I am ill. I need to cancel my flight. Why do you need my name?. I also left my luggage in storage. Why is that another number?"

Through to storage: "I am a tourist. I am ill. Why do you need a voucher number? I was never given a voucher. Ok, hold on, I'll go and look for it."

Beep. Beep.

"Hello. I have the voucher. Hello, Hello. Shit! Shit!! Shit!!!"

Maya dials again, and then drops her coins. Another operator answers.

"Joy, I have run out of coins, and need to use your 'phone to call the States."

Later. "I need to go out. Please make an appointment for me with your doctor and escort me. I heard you don't walk in the streets of Jo'burg. I also need to buy food as you don't supply any."

Me: "Do you need to leave now, as I would like to shower?"

Maya: "No, no, take your time. Let me know when you are finished."

See (3)

I am a Tourist (1)

I saw a site - Difficult Guests: Please send us your contributions.

Not demented or destructive, just damn difficult.

I naturally assumed, I had heard and seen it all, until I met Maya.

Maya made a booking with the message - Please be there to collect me when I arrive at the airport.

Flight details would be nice, but I received no response to my mail.

The 'phone rings, and so it begins.

"I have been waiting here for over an hour!"

Steven arranges to meet Maya at Terminal A and confirms her mobile number.

Five minutes later, Maya: "I have now been waiting at Terminal B for another half an hour." Different number.

When Maya arrives she kicks off her shoes and drops her luggage at the entrance.

"I am very ill. Where is my room? Please bring my luggage."

The following morning, I am presented with a list of her requirements.

1. Seed-loaf Bread. 2. Camomile Tea. 3. Herbal Shampoo. 4. Cabernet Cheese. 5. Biltong.

"We don't provide this," I say, aghast.

"Oh, you don't. Well, I am not well. I have decided to book for another night, and I am paying for this."

"Unfortunately, there is another booking for your room tonight. The guests specifically requested the 'Pool View'.

"Pool View. There is no pool here. Come, come, show me."

I open the curtains.

"Oh, there it is. I also booked the room with the pool view. You'll have to make other arrangements with your guests. Remember, I am ill, and I am not moving!"

The other guests, bless them, were understanding and accommodating. As I was searching for the pen Maya, again:

"I am using the pen. You'll just have to find another one. I am sure your guests won't mind waiting. Remember, I am ill!!"

See (2).

What's My Name Again?

While I was sleeping, Steven booked in Anthony and the next morning, I checked the register.

When I trill: "Good Morning (insert name here), I hope you slept well etc", the guests are rather thrilled.

This did not happen with Anthony.

"Good Morning, Anthony," I say.

"My name is Mark," he replies.

"I apologise, but you signed in as Anthony," I continue.

"But, I told you my name is Timothy."

I hope the FBI isn't on his tail.

Late the following night, three arrivals for the dorm, which already had three, including Mark Timothy Anthony.

They insisted that according to my website, each bed cost R25 each and not R150 each. They left in a huff threatening to contact the Tourism Board.

The following night, two German gentlemen arrived, who could not speak a word of English.

Not. A. Word.

They sat on either side of me on the couch, and opened a bag of coins.

"Phula, Dollar, Pound," they repeated, and repeated again, in unison.

I nodded my head nervously, wondering what they were on about.

I finally clicked, that they were re-iterating all the places they had visited.

I have a bottle of stray coins and a board of notes but I've hardly been anywhere.

But, I wasn't about to tell them that.